New Year's Revolution
by cheride
Summary: The Gull's Way version of the post holiday blues. And really, Teddy never means to cause trouble.


_**New Year's Revolution- **Cheride_

_Disclaimer: This is a work of fan fiction for entertainment purposes only. The characters and concepts of Hardcastle & McCormick do not belong to me, but to their creators._

_Rating: K+

* * *

_

**Author's Notes:** I've already examined their first Thanksgiving and their first Christmas; this makes the holiday hat trick.

Many thanks to L.M. Lewis, who took a break from the hassles of RL to do the beta work, and who was okay with the idea of a subtly responsible Teddy.

* * *

"The problem with you, Hardcastle, is that you're never satisfied." Mark McCormick glared across the patio table. "Nothin' I do is ever good enough!"

"The problem, kiddo," Hardcastle contradicted in a coldly quiet voice, "is that nothin' you do is ever what you're told."

"What I'm to—" The young man's frustration interrupted the words as he pushed himself to his feet. "This might come as a shock, Judge, but I'm not your slave."

"You do work for me, remember?"

"Not much chance of me forgetting that," McCormick muttered as he turned from the table.

"Where're you going?" Hardcastle demanded.

"Out."

Hardcastle hadn't moved, but his voice was growing louder. "Out? You don't go _out_ unless I say so."

McCormick didn't break his stride. "Arrest me."

And then he disappeared through the hedges, leaving behind one very angry judge.

**00000**

McCormick knocked rapidly on the door, then pasted a grin on his face just before it was thrown open.

"Skid! What're you doin' here?"

"I've got pizza and beer," McCormick answered, holding up the items in his hands. "Do I need more of a reason than that?"

"Hell, no." Teddy Hollins grinned and stepped aside to allow McCormick to enter the apartment.

"I dropped by Jack's first," McCormick said as he made himself comfortable on the sofa, "thought you'd be working."

"Nah, I'm off tonight."

"Off on purpose, Ted? Or the unexpected kind?"

Hollins laughed good-naturedly. "On purpose, Skid, so quit worrying. I told you and Hardcastle I'd give this thing a real shot, and I am."

McCormick grimaced slightly as he pulled a six-pack from the bag. "Yeah, wouldn't wanna let Hardcastle down." He tugged two cans from the ring, then handed the remaining four and the paper sack to his friend. "Wanna put these in the fridge?"

Hollins grabbed the beer from the outstretched hands. "Jeez, Mark," he said as he quickly managed a firmer hold to keep from dropping the sack, "how much you got in here?"

"Probably not enough."

"Oh." Teddy looked at the other man for a second, then turned toward the kitchen. When he returned, he had napkins and paper plates.

McCormick served up the pizza, both men popped open their cans, and they settled back against the sofa.

"Oh, hey," McCormick said, noticing the television for the first time, "you've got the game on."

Teddy grinned again. "I've got fifty bucks riding on this game, in case you've forgotten."

A small frown crossed McCormick's face. "No, I haven't forgotten, Ted." He took a bite of pizza and didn't say anything more.

They ate in silence for quite a while, the only conversation centered around drink refills. But when McCormick's team first threw an interception, and then went on to allow the touchdown, all without comment, Hollins spoke up.

"Hey, Skid, is everything okay?"

McCormick glanced over at the other man. "Sure." Then, "I'm gonna grab another beer; you want one?"

Teddy arched an eyebrow in surprise. "That'll be your fourth in less than an hour."

"So?"

"So, nothin', I guess."

"You don't want one, then?"

Hollins shook his head. "I'm good."

Mark returned a minute later, an open can in one hand, and a complete six-pack in the other. Teddy shook his head and reached for the remote.

"Hard to get the play-by-play that way," McCormick commented as the sound was muted.

"We'll survive." Hollins twisted himself around on the sofa to face his friend directly. "You want to tell me what's going on, or should I start guessing?"

"I told you everything's okay." McCormick took a long swallow and tried to avoid the younger man's gaze.

But Hollins didn't move; he simply sat silently, waiting. After several long seconds, he sighed. "All right then, I'll guess. And my first guess is Hardcastle. What happened?"

McCormick winced, but didn't answer.

"Are you on the run?" Hollins pressed. When McCormick still didn't answer, he continued purposefully, "Look, you're not the only one on parole here. You know I'd do anything for you, including giving you a place to hide out, but I deserve to know what I'm risking. Is Hardcastle looking for you?"

"Probably not," McCormick finally said in a low tone. "At least, not yet." He drained the fourth beer and reached for number five.

"So you're gonna skip?"

This time there was no hesitation. "No. I wouldn't do that." McCormick's tone turned bitter. "But that doesn't mean he won't be lookin' for me anyway. Any excuse to prove he's in charge."

Hollins rolled his eyes. "You are not makin' one bit of sense. From where I been sittin', Hardcastle seemed like just about the best thing that's happened to you in a while, and it seemed like you knew it, too. So what the hell is going on?"

McCormick slouched back against the sofa. "Teddy, look, I've had a crappy day, and what I'd really like to do is sit here and watch the game, drink some beer, and forget about Hardcastle for a while. Okay?"

Hollins reached for another beer. "Okay," he sighed. "For now."

**00000**

"This day jus' gets better 'n better," McCormick grumbled as he painstakingly counted out fifty dollars. He shoved it a little unsteadily toward Teddy. "Hardcastle told me I should start doin' somethin' more worthwhile with my money." He popped the top on another can.

Hollins didn't object, having secured the keys to the Coyote a couple hours earlier. But he was surprised by the comment.

"_Hardcastle_ told you to quit gambling? The guy who bets on his pulse rate?"

McCormick shrugged. "I dunno. I think he mighta said something about bein' too organized t'be legal." He screwed his face into a frown. "I _know_ he said I should try to be that organized with my chores. Chores! Do ya b'lieve that? Thinks chores is all I'm good for."

Hollins was trying to follow along. "Is that what you guys fought about? Chores?"

"I dunno _what_ we fought about," Mark admitted, leaning his head back into the cushion. "He's been angry for days, always on me 'bout somethin'." He rocked his head and closed his eyes, a sad expression coming over his face.

"Last week . . . last week was great. He was nice. B'lieve that? Hardcase was _nice_. To _me_. Musta been an act, though, cuz he's sure makin' up for it now." He looked over at his friend. "Now I'm just some con who does his chores."

"I don't believe that, Skid," Hollins said forcefully. "Hell, he only helped me because of you. He wouldn't've done that if you didn't mean anything to him."

"Nah, Teddy, you don't unnerstand. He helped you cuz that's what he does."

"So why has he invited me over for dinner? Huh? Because he told us we couldn't hang out just the two of us since we're on parole; but he knows we're friends, so he fixes it." Hollins took a breath.

"Skid, whatever happened, you hidin' over here gettin' drunk probably isn't gonna fix it. You need to go home."

McCormick reached for another beer, then closed his eyes again.

"I don't got a home."

**00000**

Lieutenant Frank Harper had barely gotten settled in behind his desk when the office door swung open and Milton Hardcastle barged in with a dire statement.

"What do you mean, 'McCormick's gone'?" Harper repeated as the judge plopped down into the chair opposite his desk.

The jurist dragged a hand across tired eyes. "I mean he's gone, Frank. Left. Took off. Disappeared. _Gone_."

The lieutenant cast a steely gaze across to the other man. "You're gonna have to do better than that."

With a sigh, Hardcastle tried to explain a situation he didn't entirely understand himself.

"Yesterday was pretty normal. Mostly. We were both a little on edge maybe."

Harper raised an eyebrow, and looked at Hardcastle speculatively. "You mean _you_ were on edge, and Mark finally snapped back."

Hardcastle gave a half-shrug. "Maybe. Anyway, let's just say there was some frustration on both sides. We had words and he stormed off. I figured he'd be back after he had a chance to cool off, but that was just before seven last night. When he wasn't back by three, I went lookin' for him, but nothing. So here I am."

"You've just been out driving around for over four hours without telling anybody?"

"I didn't think . . ." Hardcastle hesitated a moment before forcing out the thought. "I didn't _want_ to think that he had run."

"And now?" Harper prodded.

Hardcastle shrugged. "I don't know what else _to_ think. There're a few bars he likes to get a drink in now and then, so I went by, thinking maybe he'd had a few too many and would be sleeping it off in the parking lot; he wasn't at any of 'em. I drove maybe fifty or sixty miles up the coast, and then fifty miles the other direction, too, because sometimes he likes to just stare at the water.

"Frank, if he was just blowing off steam, he wouldn't have gone far."

"And you seriously think he ran?" The lieutenant was incredulous. "You don't think something happened?"

The judge shook his head slowly. "I checked the nearest hospitals; nothing. I even had the night shift check the booking sheets at the area stations; he's nowhere. I think maybe he finally got fed up." He let out a slow breath.

"Put out an APB, would you, Frank? But make it locate and report; I wanna pick him up myself."

"Milt—"

"Frank, please. I'm not happy about it, either, but just do it, okay?"

Harper examined his friend again before speaking. "When we find him, I'm going with you."

Recognizing that Harper didn't intend to argue, Hardcastle simply nodded quietly, then watched sadly as the detective picked up the phone to issue the order.

**00000**

"Well, that didn't take long," Hardcastle said forty minutes later, as Harper scribbled the address and hung up the phone.

Harper rolled his eyes. "You have _seen_ his car, right? It's not hard to spot. You coulda saved yourself a lot of trouble if you'd had us do this last night."

Hardcastle shrugged off the admonition. "So where're we goin'?" he asked, following the detective from the office.

"Hollywood. Apartment complex over on Leland Way."

With a sudden groan, the judge slapped his palm to his forehead. "Teddy Hollins."

"What? Who?" Harper turned back to find Hardcastle standing in the hallway, eyes wide with disbelief.

"Teddy Hollins," he repeated. "McCormick's ex-cellmate. That's his address."

"The flaky kid you told me about that ripped off Judge Gault?"

"That's the one," Hardcastle confirmed. "Look, now that I know where he is, you don't really have to come along, Frank. I can take care of this."

But Harper shook his head. "C'mon, you got me involved; let's go find out what his story is."

**00000**

"I just can't believe you didn't go check it out last night," Harper said as he steered the sedan along the freeway.

"The kid knows he's not supposed to be over there alone," Hardcastle blustered. "They're both gonna end up gettin' their tickets pulled if they don't do things like I told 'em."

Harper grinned. "So, let me make sure I have this right: you had a fight and McCormick ran off. He was gone so long that you honestly thought he had skipped out on you, but it never crossed your mind that he'd break one of your rules and go see an old friend. Does that about cover it?"

"Okay, so I had other things on my mind," Hardcastle huffed.

The grin faded from the lieutenant's face as he darted a quick glance at the passenger seat. "You wanna tell me yet what you were fightin' about?"

Hardcastle gave a small shrug and deliberately didn't look back at his friend. "I dunno. I told you; I was a little on edge."

Another couple of miles passed before he added, "You know what he gave me for Christmas? Some Lone Ranger comic books and a new basketball. Mine was gettin' kinda worn."

Harper raised an eyebrow at the non sequitur. "Well that's nice," he said uncertainly.

"I didn't figure he'd get me anything. I mean, not that he didn't enjoy the holidays; he did. He's like a big kid. But he's always complaining about how he doesn't have any money. And I _am_ the guy who sent him up. I sure never hear the end of that. I just wasn't sure he'd wanna exchange presents."

"So you didn't get him anything?" Harper guessed.

"Of course I got him something!" Hardcastle bristled. "Whatta ya think I am? The guy's livin' in my house, working with me; of course I got him something."

"Okay, sorry. Then what's the problem?"

"You know what I got him?" Hardcastle countered. "Some records. He has about a ton of 'em, ya know. The kid likes music a lot. At least, he calls it music. Anyway, there were a couple of new albums he'd been wanting. And he had a stack of sleeves over in the gatehouse that didn't have any albums in 'em. Said they'd gotten lost or broken somewhere along the way, but he always meant to replace them. So I found some of those for him."

Hardcastle was still staring fixedly out the window. "Really, we had a pretty good holiday."

Harper seemed confused. "So lemme ask again; what's the problem?"

The judge ran a hand through his hair and sighed. "I don't think it's supposed to be that way," he said quietly.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Harper huffed. "Why shouldn't you have a good Christmas? You're friends."

"That's what I'm talkin 'about. It's not supposed to be that way. I told him we weren't gonna be buddies. He works for me; he's in my custody. It's not supposed to be more than that."

"What'd you say to the kid, Milt?" Harper's tone carried a quiet certainty that—whatever had gone wrong—he was talking to the guilty party.

"Nothing really," Hardcastle said, "I've just been a little testy the last couple of days. And you were right; he put up with it for a while, but then his mouth got involved, too. And then yesterday, he was whining about not having a date for tonight, and then he started talking about how we should put together a party, which I absolutely didn't want to do. A New Year's Eve party? Me? And with one day's notice? The kid's crazy. Anyway, then we just started talking about what kind of resolutions we might make, and things went downhill from there."

"Resolutions?" Harper repeated dubiously. "All of this because of New Year's resolutions? What the hell did you say?"

"Ah, well, I think I started by suggesting he might be better off if he wasn't practically running a full-fledged bookie operation out of my gatehouse. I told him that was a dangerous game for a guy on parole."

Harper rolled his eyes, but didn't comment.

"And then I told him he should resolve himself to keeping my hedges a little neater than they've been lately, and maybe cleaning the pool without being told, and—"

"I get the idea," Harper interrupted. "You put him back in his place."

"Something like that, I guess," the older man agreed sadly.

"Only, that's not really his place anymore, is it?"

When the judge didn't answer, the detective continued, "And did he have any resolution suggestions for you?"

Hardcastle almost grinned. "A couple. Mostly having to do with getting a stick out of a certain part of my anatomy."

Harper chuckled. "But you didn't think it was so funny yesterday."

"No. And I guess he wasn't amused, either." His tone hardened. "But that's still no reason for him to just disappear like that all night. Like he's staging some kinda revolt, or somethin'."

"Maybe. But, Milt, I don't think you can treat him like he's nothing more than an ex-con in your custody and still expect him to act like something more." Harper flipped the blinker and turned into the parking lot. "Maybe you want to remember that when we talk to him."

Hardcastle looked at the sincere concern on his friend's face. "I'll keep it in mind," he promised.

**00000**

"Judge." Teddy looked blearily at the men standing at his doorway. "What're you doin' here?"

"Don't play dumb, Hollins," Hardcastle grumped. "You know what I want." He hitched his thumb. "And this is Lieutenant Harper with the LAPD; he's only here unofficially, unless you give me a hard time."

Hollins rubbed at his eyes. "You don't have to make threats, Judge; just tell me what you want."

"I want you to tell McCormick to get his butt out here right now," Hardcastle yelled. "Or, better yet, let me in there." He took a menacing step forward.

Teddy jumped out of the doorway. "He's not here, Judge."

"I saw the Coyote." He barreled his way through the living area. "Where is he?"

Hollins ran a hand frantically through his hair. "He really isn't here, Hardcastle. He went home last night." He gulped when the judge whirled on him. "I didn't . . . he was . . . I mean . . ."

Hardcastle planted himself deliberately in front of the smaller man. "Where. Is. He?"

Teddy spoke quickly. "I put him in a cab last night, Judge. Well, really, it was early this morning. He'd been drinking way too much. He was kinda upset. I told him he should just stay here and sleep a while, but he said he had to get back; said you'd be mad."

"What time?"

"Uh, I dunno, it was a little before two, I guess."

Hardcastle exchanged a quick look with Harper, feeling a renewed sense of alarm. "Are you sure about that, Teddy? Two o'clock?"

Hollins blinked at the change in tone. "Yeah, pretty sure, Judge. Why? Didn't he come home?"

"I'm not sure. I left about three; he wasn't there then."

Unexpectedly, Hollins grinned. "I guess Skid was right. He said it wouldn't be long before you sent out a posse."

The judge just shook his head, wondering how he had managed to let things get to this point. And, more importantly, wondering just exactly what 'this point' was.

"I need to use your phone," he told Hollins. "And could you give Lieutenant Harper the name and number of that cab company? Just in case."

Teddy looked up the information and Harper jotted it into his notebook while the jurist placed his calls.

"Not answering at the main house or the gatehouse," Hardcastle reported as he rejoined the others. He pinned Hollins with a glare. "Are you sure he was going home?"

"Um, yeah," Teddy gulped, "that's what he said. But . . ." He took a deep breath and hurried on before Hardcastle could ask the next question. "But like I said, he was pretty upset, Judge. And he was kinda drunk. He never would tell me much about what happened yesterday, but he said things were different now; said he had messed it up.

"But he wasn't gonna skip out, Judge," Hollins added earnestly, "I swear. Even as messed up as he was, he said he'd never run. He was going home."

Hardcastle nodded slowly, a somber expression on his face. "I know that, Teddy," he said softly. "I know that."

Harper spoke into the silence that settled. "Come on, Milt; I'll take you home." He thought a moment, then added, "If Mark had that much to drink, maybe he didn't even hear the phone. Let's go check on him."

Hardcastle nodded again, trying to piece it all together, wondering just how much trouble McCormick might've gotten into this time. "I could take the Coyote." The judge looked over at Hollins. "What was the plan for that, anyway?"

"Mark asked me to bring it by later this afternoon."

_He was going home._

And he tried to reassure himself._ He's at home._

Hardcastle glanced at the lieutenant, who just shrugged. He sighed, then turned back to the ex-con. "If you don't have plans tonight, Teddy, why don't you bring the car over this evening, and we'll grill, have a few beers. Pop open a bottle of champagne at midnight. How's that sound?"

Hollins grinned. "I'd like that, Judge, thanks. It's a date."

And as they walked back toward Frank's car, Hardcastle hoped it was a date they'd all be able to keep.

**00000**

On the trip to Malibu, Harper had put in a call to his office and asked for the initial check on the cab, but that was as close as they came to admitting that there might be some kind of problem.

"I'm sure he's fine, Frank," Hardcastle said as they pulled into the drive at Gull's Way. "You were probably right; he's just zonked out and didn't hear the phone. And I don't need a chaperone anymore, either; I've calmed down now."

Harper grinned, not questioning Hardcastle's confidence. "I know, but it'll make me feel better to see for myself that Mark's settled where he belongs." He put the car into park in front of the house. "And it was nice of you to invite that kid over, too."

"Yeah, yeah," Hardcastle grumbled. "_Nice_, that's just what I need the kid thinkin'."

Hardcastle kept up his pretense, though he climbed quickly from the car and up the steps to the door, eager to know for sure. Harper was following closely, and pulled up short when Hardcastle suddenly held up a warning hand.

Taking in the door standing slightly ajar, the officer drew his weapon smoothly, cast an inquiring eyebrow at the older man, and received a single negative shake in return. Without comment, he moved into the front position, pushing the door open slowly and leading the way inside.

The two men moved instinctively, separating, eyes scanning the entryway, both moving toward the open door of the den. But as soon as Hardcastle stepped onto the landing, his training was forgotten as he saw McCormick bound in one of the leather chairs. He rushed immediately across the room and dropped to his knees beside the chair, leaving Harper whirling defensively, covering the entry.

"McCormick, are you okay?" Hardcastle asked, yanking the tape from the young man's mouth.

"I'm fine, Judge," McCormick answered thickly, "and there's no one here. The guy's gone already."

Harper holstered his gun and moved over to help the judge remove the ropes from McCormick's hands and feet.

"I'm sorry, Judge," Mark was saying, "I didn't wanna do it, but I didn't know where you were, or when you'd be back, and the guy had a gun. I didn't want you walking in to that."

"McCormick, what are you talking about?"

He sighed. "The safe, Judge; he made me open the safe."

Both older men jerked their heads around, seeing the open wall safe for the first time, and staring for several seconds. Then Hardcastle gave a sigh of his own, and returned his attention to freeing the other man.

"You wanna tell me what the hell happened?" he growled.

"Could it wait until I have a drink of water, Hardcase? I've been sitting here with my mouth taped shut for hours, and I was parched to begin with. It's been a kinda rough night, and I'd like to catch my breath for just a minute, if that's okay with you."

Hardcastle didn't miss the touch of severity in the tone, nor did he miss Harper's subtle shake of the head. "Yeah, sure, kid. It can wait."

**00000**

They had moved into the kitchen. Harper had called downtown to report the burglary; Mark had his water—and some aspirin along with it—and he was trying to explain the situation.

"It was just stupid, Judge, and it's all my fault. I'd been drinking a little," his face reddened slightly and he averted his gaze. "Anyway, Teddy called a cab for me so I could get ho—get back. He was a little worried about me, and he told the driver to be sure and take care of me. I think he might've made too big a deal out of the idea that someone was gonna care if anything happened. I don't know what the guy thought; I remember he was talking to me on the drive. I think I might've dozed off for a while; he was driving all over town. I remember accusing him of trying to run up the meter, but I really was a little out of it.

"Then, when he saw the house, he started talking about how he should get some kind of bonus for getting me home in one piece. Said in my condition, I'd be an easy target, and my family should be willing to pay for having me back safely. He seemed to have the idea that I actually belonged here.

"I tried to set him straight, make him understand this wasn't really my home, but he wouldn't believe it. And then when no one was here, he just became more convinced he was right; said I wouldn't be coming here alone, in the middle of the night, if I didn't live here. I tried tellin' him my boss just let me stay here, nothing more, but I wasn't getting anywhere.

"Anyway, he was a little crazy, and that's when he pulled out the gun. Said I either needed to find some money for him, or he was gonna sit there and wait for whoever came home next. I was hoping maybe you had some cash in your desk, Judge, but I couldn't find any. I tried stalling him, but he was sure there was a safe. After a minute or two, I opened it up for him."

Hardcastle's eyes narrowed as he contemplated the commentary. He hadn't responded to any of McCormick's pointed remarks about the estate not being his home, but now this careful glossing over of the actual robbery couldn't be ignored.

"McCormick, what happened?"

"I just told you what happened."

The judge looked at him carefully. "Did he hurt you?"

McCormick glanced away. "Don't worry about it, Judge."

"Mark," Harper spoke up, "we want to be able to levy as many charges as possible. Do we need to add battery to the list?"

"I suppose so," the younger man admitted after a moment.

The phone rang before anything further could be said. "I'll get it," Harper offered, moving to grab the receiver.

"You know we gotta talk," Hardcastle said quietly.

McCormick didn't meet his eyes. "I'll get you your money back, Judge, somehow."

"That's not what I meant, kiddo," Hardcastle answered, struggling to keep his temper in check.

"Okay."

"And seriously, are you hurt?"

Finally, McCormick looked up into the older blue eyes. "I'm fine, Judge. Really."

Hardcastle was trying to decide whether or not to accept the answer as truth when Harper returned to the table.

"Okay," the detective said, dropping back into his seat, "we got a name on the driver: Walt Reynolds. Only been with the cab company for about five weeks; never checked back in after he was dispatched to Hollins' apartment last night. The cab was found abandoned down in Long Beach earlier this morning; it's already been processed. Mark's prints were in the back seat.

"Reynolds has a sheet as long as your arm for robbery and assault; done some short time, nothing major." Harper threw a meaningful look at Hardcastle, and then added, "But nothing of particular interest in his record."

And then McCormick laughed, shaking his head ruefully. "You can go ahead and say it, Frank. What you mean is that there's no connection to me and this Reynolds guy."

Harper grinned, and didn't deny the accusation. "Right. And nothing to connect him to Hollins, either."

McCormick leaned back in his chair and looked over at Hardcastle. "I was pissed last night, Judge, but I told you from the beginning; I wouldn't steal from you."

Hardcastle met his gaze. "And I told _you_ from the beginning that I wouldn't have brought you here if I thought you would."

Mark nodded thoughtfully. "I know, but you check whatever you need to check." He gave a gentle smile. "And then we'll talk."

Returning the smile, Hardcastle replied, "Count on it, kiddo."

**00000**

"Hey!" Hardcastle bellowed as he barged into the gatehouse. He trudged up the first few steps to the sleeping loft. "You plannin' on sleeping the rest of the year?"

McCormick rolled to a sitting position with a grin on his face. "That's cute, Hardcase. But you might be surprised how little rest you get tied to a chair."

"Or passed out from drinkin' so much that you have to catch a ride home with a crazed cabbie."

McCormick's face fell. "Okay," he said seriously, "let's have it. I know you were going easy on me when Frank was here, but say whatever you need to say. I screwed up, and I know it."

Hardcastle ascended the remaining stairs, swiveled the desk chair out from its spot, and sat, looking directly at McCormick. "Oh, I've got some things to say."

Mark swallowed hard, but he didn't look away. "I know."

The judge pressed his hands down on his knees, arms stiff, giving every appearance of a man bracing himself for something. "In the first place," he began, "I thought we decided a long time ago that you do what I say. You don't just go tearin' off outta here anytime you get a whim."

McCormick nodded. "Yeah. We did."

"And secondly, I thought we agreed that the 'no known felons' part of your parole conditions applied to Teddy Hollins, too."

McCormick nodded again. "We did. I told ya; I know I screwed up."

"And thirdly, I thought we had established that you _do_ belong here, and this really _is_ your home."

McCormick halted the instinctive nod and looked back with uncertainty. "Really? I musta missed that part. Because I thought what we had established is that I live here at your discretion, and that I work to earn my keep. You made things pretty clear yesterday, Judge."

Hardcastle sighed at the bitter sadness in the words. "Yeah, I guess I made a lot of things clear yesterday, kiddo. But I think I probably shoulda made sure I understood 'em myself before I tried explaining 'em to you."

Mark leaned forward, brows furrowed in perplexity. "Wouldn't hurt if you explained some of this, either," he complained. He took a breath.

"Honestly, Judge, you're making me crazy lately. You know, I was expecting some kinda Grinch for Christmas, but you surprised me there. The last couple of weeks were a lot of fun; really, they were great. And it's not that I expected you to keep on actin' like Kris Kringle or anything. Hell, I don't think I even _wanted_ that. But, jeez, Hardcase, these past few days you've been on my ass non-stop."

"I know; I—"

"I don't know what I did all of a sudden, but if I need to stop the gambling because of my parole—"

"That's not—"

"—or if I have to do the chores differently—"

"No, I didn't—"

"—or any other _resolution_ that you want me to make—"

"Dammit, McCormick, stop it!" Hardcastle jumped to his feet and stood towering over the younger man who was sitting suddenly mute on the bed.

"I'm trying to tell you that I didn't mean any of that stuff, so could you quit runnin' your mouth for just a second and let me talk?"

McCormick's eyes widened as he looked up at the other man, but he was obediently quiet.

In the sudden silence, Hardcastle deflated, and folded back into the waiting chair.

"Listen, kid," he began hesitantly, looking into the expectant face before him, "I'm not gonna try and do a lot of explaining here, because I'm not really sure I understand everything that's going on myself. But I do know you're right about one thing; I've been riding you pretty hard these last few days, and you didn't really do anything to deserve that.

"These past few months, as surprising as it's been, you've been doin' a pretty good job of keepin' your nose clean and doing what I asked. We've made a pretty good team so far, and I didn't mean to make you think I wanted anything to change."

The men sat, eyes locked, for several long seconds.

"Well, don'tcha have anything to say?" Hardcastle groused.

But instead of speaking, McCormick just twitched an eyebrow as an impish grin spread slowly across his face.

It took another second, but Hardcastle got the point. "Dammit, kid, you can talk now! Whatta ya got to say for yourself?"

McCormick's grin didn't fade. "So does this mean I don't have to give up my line on the Super Bowl?"

Hardcastle fought back the laugh as long as he could, though—as it turned out—that wasn't very long at all.

**00000**

If anyone had been eavesdropping in the gatehouse, they most likely would've been amazed that anything seemed resolved after such veiled conversation that transpired once McCormick's lip kicked back into gear. But for the two men, by the time they climbed down from the loft, they had gained a renewed confidence in their fledgling partnership.

The judge brought Mark up to speed on the case as they headed back to the main house, and the young man was greatly relieved to learn that Reynolds had been captured, with the bulk of Hardcastle's money still in his possession. But now he was suddenly faced with a new mystery.

"Hey, how'd the Coyote get here?"

"Teddy brought it over," Hardcastle answered, as they continued across the drive.

"He was here? He should've come over, even if I was sleeping." McCormick glanced over at the judge. "I mean, since we can only visit with a chaperone."

"And don't you forget it again," Hardcastle huffed. Then he grinned. "But there's still time for me to chaperone; he's out on the patio. Frank and Claudia are here, too."

McCormick stopped in his tracks. "Huh?"

The jurist laughed. "Profound as always, kiddo." He jerked his chin and they resumed their short walk. "But, yeah, they're out firing up the grill. And we've already got the bubbly chilling. It's not much of a party, but . . ."

Mark clapped the older man on the back as they rounded the house. "No, you're wrong there, Judge." He smiled broadly at the scene that greeted them on the patio. "It's the perfect party. Just a few good friends sharing a nice evening together . . . at home."


End file.
